Instincts, Version 2.0
by Dala1
Summary: (movieverse; L/R) An alternate ending to "Instincts"


Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue. Except for Thorn, who's mine.  
This is a different take on the end of Instincts; a lot of people complained that I killed off Thorn. While I like the original ending better, I wanted a second try, and I had the rest of the fic already worked out in my mind, so here you are :)  
  
  
  
Logan fought beside his companions, always conscious of Thorn's tower at his back. The strange enemies were good enough in combat, and their hive mind at first seemed an advantage. But when Logan made the first kill, running his claws through a green-skinned mutant who breathed fire, the others were weakened. And so it was easier to take down another, and then another, and so on until there were only three sluggish ones left.   
  
Knowing that his help was no longer crucial, Logan began to climb the tower to Thorn.  
  
He had nearly reached the top when the last stragglers were dispersed, and Scott looked up at him. He started to follow, but Jean held him back and said, "No. He can handle this by himself." Her face was calm; Thorn was alive, but her captors would not be when Logan found them.  
  
She looked around the base, at the cave, the two pools. Now that she was no longer distracted, a great sadness filled her bones. Feeling the death-echoes, sensing the terrified final thoughts of the three children surrounding them, she thought, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that we didn't know, that we go here too late. Sorry we couldn't save you.  
  
The X-Men turned and began to walk toward one of the pools.  
  
  
  
When he reached the top, it took Logan all of two seconds to get rid of the two zombie-people inside. One he shoved out the door, to slam into the ground below and the other he merely gutted. Retracting his claws, he knelt beside Thorn, his eyes growing wide as they adjusted to the dim light.  
  
She was lying spread-eagled on a straw mat, her hands and feet tied down at each corner. It was soaked with blood, because there were clean, precise swipes along each leg, and the beginning of one across her belly; he had interrupted before the job was finished  
  
Feeling relief pour into his nerves like nectar, Logan snapped the ropes that bound her and gently gathered her into his arms. She was hurt, but unafraid now that he was here.  
  
"C'mon, Pixie," he whispered thickly, "you're gonna be alright."  
  
Thorn stretched her arms weakly around his neck, and held on with a tenacity that belied her injuries. Slowly, carefully, they began the long climb down to the ground.  
  
Outside it was deathly silent. He could see Scott, Jean, and Rogue standing at the top of a pool, digging through it. All three looked up at him, relieved, and continued their work.  
  
Logan would have carried Thorn over to them, but she was begging to be set down. He laid her gently down at the base, and smiled at her blissful expression. The earth was tied to her soul, and it would heal her wounds better than any doctor.   
  
Rogue landed gently by his side, a child about Thorn's size in her arms. The small, blue-skinned boy was limp in death. "Water," she said dully, meeting his eyes. There was a deep sadness in them, and he wanted to take her in his arms.  
  
"They were sacrificing the elements," Jean responded, as she telekinetically set herself and Scott down. "Thorn was going to be killed out of contact with the earth. The one in the cave, air, suffocated with it. The one in the other pool was fire, and he drowned. This was water, and he was buried under sand."  
  
Thorn, sprawled on the ground, looked at the little boy and the two other bodies sadly.  
  
Jean knelt beside her. "You knew them, didn't you?" she asked.  
  
The child nodded.  
  
"Will you show me? I won't hurt you . . ." Gently Jean put a hand on either side of Thorn's face, and the others watched in silence as she slipped into the semi-trance of mind-reading.  
  
When she had finished, she stood up. "That is responsible," she said, pointing a finger at the stone idol, shaking with anger. "It's some spirit called Trehuld, and it hynotized these people and made them capture the children. Their sacrifice was supposed to bring him into mortal form."  
  
"Good thing we stopped it," Logan growled. He walked over to the rock, which was still thrumming huffily away, and spat on it.  
  
"Take the crystal out," Jean instructed. "It can't harm us because I've protected our minds, but it'll lose power without the crystal."  
  
He lifted it out, gingerly, but the stone made no move to stop him. Releasing his claws with the sound of furious metal, he sliced the thing into four pieces. Its eerie orange glow immediately went out. Scott joined him and, warning everyone to shield their eyes, blasted its rock cradle into a pile of rubble.  
  
Then, with Thorn watching contentedly, they built a funeral pyre for the fire and air children, and Rogue carried the water child's body to a nearby lake. "Rest here," she murmured, casting it off from shore.  
  
When everything had finished, the team boarded the Blackbird. Rogue and Logan were back in the passenger seats now, Thorn cradled in his arms.  
  
She looked over at the gruff Wolverine and his young ward, and smiled.  
  
He looked up, and his eyes sought hers. Though she couldn't quite read the emotions within, Rogue felt a sense of urgency emanating from him.  
  
"I need to talk to you," he said quietly as Scott prepared for takeoff.  
  
She nodded, puzzled. But they didn't get a chance for it that night, because when the jet returned to the mansion, Logan skipped out on the meeting to put Thorn to bed. So Rogue returned to her own room at the end of a very long day, tired and heartsore from the memory of the dead mutants' faces. She wondered drowsily what was on Logan's mind as she drifted off to sleep.  
  
He, on the other hand, stayed awake all night, keeping a watchful eye on Thorn and trying to sort his thoughts out.  
  
The feelings were pretty much cut and dry, but his head had a difficult time working them into his rebellious nature. Finally, a short while before dawn, he decided that this would be easier when she was standing right in front of him, and he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
The next morning, Thorn was mostly recovered from her ordeals, although she bore long scars from the knife wounds. She delighted in showing them off to the rest of the X-Men, who petted her and tittered amongst themselves at Logan's proud air.  
  
It was just after lunch when she became bored with sitting in his room while he made up stories. Leaping up suddenly and darting out the door, Thorn bounded down the hallway with entirely too much energy. Logan sighed and took after her at a trot.  
  
She stopped and Rogue's door, and to his annoyance barged in without knocking.  
  
"Thorn!" he admonished. "I'm sorry, she needs to be taught some manners . . ."  
  
He trailed off as he looked around Rogue's room. There were garment bags everywhere--on the bed, draped over a chair, hanging from the hook on the bathroom door. Rogue herself was clutching one to her chest, embarrassed and avoiding his eyes.  
  
He stepped into the room and shut the door, not looking at Thorn as she bounced onto the bed. "What are all these?" he asked.  
  
She shoved a lock of hair behind her ears. "Nothing, I'm just . . . cleaning . . ."  
  
Lifting one bag off the bed, Logan unzipped it and pulled out a short, elegant black cocktail dress. He looked at her, curious, and she bit her lip.  
  
"Now you know where all my money goes," she joked weakly.  
  
"But . . . you never go out."  
  
Rogue laughed, a harsh sound. "No, I don't." She took the dress for him and held it up. The back was almost nonexistent, draping down below what would be her shoulder blades. "You think I would actually put people at risk like that?"  
  
"No," he said, refusing to be put off by her sarcastic tone. "But why buy these things if no one ever sees you in them?"  
  
She sighed and sat next to Thorn on the bed, fingering the satin hem line of a dress. "I don't know why I do it. I don't even wear them in my room, once I bring them home. I try one on, buy it, and put it in the closet."  
  
Cautiously he edged closer to her, reaching out to touch the dress. "They are beautiful," he murmured. "I can only imagine how good you'd look in them." He met her gaze shyly, and looked away again in a hurry.  
  
Despite herself, Rogue felt the corner of her lip twitch in amusement. He must be uncomfortable around frilly girly things.  
  
Thorn was another story. She held the dress out to Thorn, looking eagerly over to Logan.  
  
A slow smile stretched across his face. "I think that's a great idea, Pixie. Why don't you try them on for us?" His hand moved to clasp hers, warm and somehow as mischievous as his voice. "Please?"  
  
She tried to scowl. "I don't know why you want to see them . . ."  
  
"Ah, come on, show a little skin for once!" He flopped back across her bed, and she wanted to smack that stupid grin off his face. Or maybe kiss it off; she wasn't sure which.  
  
"Fine," Rogue said in a clipped tone. She grabbed all the bags and marched to her bathroom.  
  
  
  
Smoothing down the bow at the back of the black dress, Rogue looked at herself in the mirror. Why should I be so nervous? This is stupid . . .  
  
Nonetheless, she wanted him to look at her, and to think she looked good, and to want her.   
  
So she opened the door with a flourish, striking a catty pose.  
  
Logan was lying on his back, biting playfully at Thorn's fingers as they poked at his beard. He dropped his head over the edge of the bed when he heard the rustle of fabric, and confused as his brain was at the upside-down sight of her in the dress, it was still a shock.  
  
Slowly he sat up and turned around to get a proper look, his jaw falling open in the usual way. Rogue smiled secretly, clutching this newfound power around her like a cloak. His eyes raked over every inch of her, taking in her tousled, loose hair, the cleavage the dress helped provide, the sleekness of her bare legs.  
  
Letting out a soft whistle, he said, "Damn."  
  
Thorn grinned, her chin cupped in her hands.  
  
Rogue tugged on the straps of the dress self-consciously. Now it was she who was embarrassed, and Logan the one with all the confidence.  
  
He twirled a finger in the air, and obediently she turned around slowly. Her two critics clapped in approval of the scandalously low back, and by the time she faced them again, Rogue was smiling.  
  
"That's better," Logan said with a wink.  
  
She tried on the rest of the dresses, to more clapping and wolf-whistles. Logan waited impatiently while she was changing into the last one. Thorn looking up from scrutinizing her fingernails, and cast him a devilishly knowing glance.  
  
"Oh, be quiet," he grumbled. "Seeing her in gorgeous dresses is having no effects on me whatsoever." The words sounded blustery and weak even to himself.  
  
A muffled cry of frustration came to his ears, and he went to the door and knocked. "Everything okay?"  
  
"The zipper is stuck!"  
  
He slipped inside and went to help her, frowning as she immediately shifted away. "Relax, I'll be careful." Breaking a thread that had become snagged, he grinned wolfishly and said, "Up or down?"  
  
She snorted. "Up, please."  
  
He obeyed and looked in the full-length mirror to observe the results.  
  
"Now this one . . . I think I like this one best," he said softly, gazing at her reflection. The dress was satin, floor-length, strapless, and the deeper shades of emerald within her eyes. Its cut was simple, and she wore little gloves that were as absurdly white as the streak in her hair.  
  
Never taking his eyes from hers in the mirror, Logan reached out and took a long, sheer wrap from the countertop. He draped it over her head, letting it fall down her back, and wrapped his arms around her waist.  
  
Enchanted by the spell his intense eyes wove upon her, Rogue leaned against him and covered his hands with her own small, gloved ones. Protected by the fabric, he pressed the side of his face against hers, taking in the scent of her shampoo and the other one that was entirely hers, that he could smell among a million others.  
  
"You had something to tell me about?" Her voice was low, soft. She reveled in the firmness of his body behind her, the strength of his arms.  
  
"Yeah . . . but I think I've forgotten." Voice equally low, he reflected that eternity could pass by and he wouldn't move from this spot, this essence of peace that had drifted around them like a mist.  
  
She turned in his arms then, and pulled the veil down over her face. "Good," she whispered, "because I don't want to talk." And she kissed him lightly through the thin fabric.  
  
His hands resting on the small of her back, Logan held her tight and returned the kiss, marveling. Why had she never thought of this before?  
  
Because no one else matters as much as I do, that she would take such a risk, he realized. I've been such an idiot, denying my own emotions and ignoring hers.  
  
She pulled her face away, suddenly afraid again. "Marie," he murmured, not wanting to let her go. "It's alright."  
  
But she shook her head, and he let go reluctantly. "I'm sorry, I . . . don't know what came over me. That was dangerous!"  
  
He spread his hands. "Don't hear me complaining, darlin'."  
  
Rogue glared at him and shooed him out of her bathroom, slamming the door in his face.  
  
An idea was forming in his head, and maybe shaping into a plan. "I still need to talk to you, anyway," he said to the closed door. "Come by later tonight?"  
  
Silence. He stretched both hands over the wood, letting a note of pleading creep into his voice. "Please? It's important."  
  
On the other side, Rogue leaned against the door, the white wrap still clenched in her hands. "Okay."  
  
Satisfied, he turned to see Thorn reclining on the bed, staring at him.  
  
"You," he said, waggling a finger at her. She smiled smugly. "Come on, faerie-child, let's go shopping."  
  
  
  
  
It was quite late indeed when Rogue knocked on Logan's door. "Come it."  
  
She entered, quietly, seeing Thorn asleep on the couch. "Logan?"  
  
"I'll be out in a minute," he called softly from the bathroom.  
  
Rogue took a seat at the foot of the couch, gazing pensively at the little girl. "What have you done to him?" she whispered. "You've changed him, somehow, and I think I like the man he's become.  
  
Logan swept into the room then, striking a pose and offering a triumphant, "Voilà!"   
  
She laughed aloud at the sight of him. He was covered from head to toe in what looked like thermal underwear, gray and light. It covered his feet like infant pajamas, and was sewn into a sort of ski-mask that didn't leave a bit of his face visible.   
  
"You're not supposed to laugh," he grumped. "You're supposed to say 'my hero!' and faint in my arms."  
  
Still giggling, she indicated his outfit and said, "Is this some kind of new . . . fashion? If it is, you're better off talking to Jubilee!"  
  
"No," he said, coming nearer. Now she could see that the head covering and the parts for his hands and feet were sewn with clumsy stitches. "Not an inch of skin is exposed; I'm all yours when I wear this."  
  
In demonstration, he cupped her face in his hands. The cloth was very thin, and she could feel the warmth of his skin.  
  
He looked unbelievably stupid, but she was touched, and it really was a good idea. "How do you see out of it?"  
  
"They make Halloween masks out of this stuff," he explained. "You can see out of it, but not in."  
  
She shook her head in wonder. "You're strange, you know that?"  
  
Even though she couldn't see it through the mask, she knew he was grinning. "Isn't that what you like about me?"  
  
In answer, she kissed the side of his face and laid her cheek against his shoulder.  
  
Logan scooped her up in his arms and dumped her onto the bed.  
  
"Hey!" she protested. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing."  
  
He stretched out beside her. "Stay with me tonight, Marie." She could imagine his earnest expression, could hear it in his voice.   
  
She considered for a moment, then wriggled under the covers. He followed, and she curled against his side like she fit there. "Won't that thing get hot?"  
  
"I turned the thermostat down real low," he replied. "So in case you get cold, all you have to do is hold me tighter . . ."  
  
Rogue laughed and settled her arms around him. "Scoundrel." Both of them slept then. Halfway through the night, Thorn got up sleepily from her place on the couch and curled up in a ball against his other side.   
  
Logan woke briefly, and arranged his arms so that one lay around each of the females slumbering beside him. Probably this sense of 'mine' was considered chauvinistic in most civilized circles, but he was Wolverine, and could hardly be called civilized.  
  
  
  



End file.
